Love Bug
by penguinwholikesfire
Summary: Arthur meets a coffee house singer, Abby. She seems to be able to get into his life at the most unlikely of times, & maybe even give him something he has been searching for. But her Russian boyfriend may stop that from happening...UKfem!US with Russfem!US
1. An Offical Meeting

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING, BUT THE PLOT.**

**WANTED YAOI? LINK!: **

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

Many times in this life, you worry about if the pieces wouldn't fit. If you let them settle to the bottom, time would be the solution to it. Even if the places are in ruin, with no one to trust, you know there would be always be a constant. Nothing could change it, making the joy of seeing worth the wait. All that you can do is just that, the ways of time don't lean to you, him, or her.

Serious topics that could bring thoughts of many hours of labor constantly ran through his mind. The brothers that he had grown along with forgot their relation to him, took a mental toll. College granted the wishes of working, even if your body lingered to slumber in the warm blankets. They want to pull themselves over your head, to provide you with warmth, and a sense of protection. The constant that allowed him to make his way through the weekdays, appeared every Friday, right before the last shift of the night. Any sensible person could see through crinkles of the days, the tension that pulled his shoulder blades together.

The constant, the simple source of joy that propelled his life forward, was a voice from the comforting coffee-shop. A place for him was rare, people of nuisance terminating the chances of relaxation. The store owners knew gained to respect the foreigner's requests, even adding his favorite to the menu.

This very day was the day. What he waited for every week, the opportunity to unwind from the duties of studies. Queen radiated from his speakers of the mini, a unmistakable blue. Union jack, sitting proud on the hood, and the back of the mirrors to display a proud British Man. Liquid oozed it's way into the asphalt, after the dark. He shuffled for the black umbrella under his seat, the pouring over coming the singing of Freddy (AN: Mercury). With a turn of a key, the machine turned off different works under the hood. A leap of faith out of the car, a black shield protecting from the downpour. He quickly shut the door, walking fast to the cafe across the street. Arthur sighed, the rain darkening the night further. He glanced around the shop, the owner's with a freshly ground coffee hovering in the air. It smelled it's strongest because it was the final hour before closing.

A rectangle convenience, a clear window, giving outsiders the chance to see the events inside. A warm splashes of a chocolate brown lined the walls, dimming lights hung every couple feet. A stage composed of a dark oak, raising a seats height above the concrete floors. Deep red curtains, opening to more brown colored plaster appeared to be framed in a square like fashion to protect the heavy drapes. The business worked on the east side, with busy with drink orders. The tables had a smooth surface, grains can be seen even if it was treated correctly. It formed perfect circles, selectively allowing two people to use itself.

Arthur chose the table farest from the stage, long dreads of air rising and lowering his chest. An opaque, ceramic tea cup contained the prized Earl Grey. A slight ruckus interrupted the calming movement, the entertainment of the night. A trio radiated the prime years of their because it was happening now. Mikes were tossed, laughter escaping them.

The group had a set of twins, visible difference between them was their eyes, the shades of blue. Jace, the eldest with the tittle because of a few minutes was given with piecing gray, light gray eyes. Serious composure, having odd quirks. The preparing of the stage allowed him to laugh at the pranks he performed. A skilled piano player, fingers jumping along the black and ivory of keys. If you listen close, he would brag of playing all his life. Jasper, the playa, the pimp, wooed all the girls. Occasionally the opposite gender, but turned them down correctly. His eyes coloring were of a light blueish, green, soft, unharmed of the years of life. Like his brother, the music gene was prominent. Various genres were his specialty, yet he prefer a acoustic. They shared the black hair, spiking it a couple inches above the skin. Skinny frame worked for the both of them.

"No time like the present!" rang from the tallest of their band. The shady curls hung lazily around the head, as if having a personality of it's own. A stubborn lock stood to the skies, bending to obey gravity, a sure sign of rebelition. Lingering on the orbs, a deep ocean like hues, vibrant with life. The kind that wouldn't falter under pressure, smiling through the worse. The average nose, straight, not blending into face. Her lips never had the chance to frown, the curves on the edges as proof. Always in spacious clothing, never caught in tight. A deep wine dyed flannel rolled till her elbows, over a graphic tee. Those shirts were a sight, the sayings, the actions printed upon them. Those sayings could have brought a smile to anyone's features. The shirt today was a printed Skelton bones, with a quarter note replacing the beating organ. The tees tried to hid the large chest, but failing horribley. Dark wash jeans skirt cutting at mid-thigh, no ruffles and breaking at the seam. Faded red chucks on her feet. Many nights of performance, and her name was revealed as Hero. Her voice was a mellow, yet you could felt how much heart she put in. The mood that came from Hero radiated a never ending happiness, always ready for the next battle.

"Tonight, I am going to do something a little different! Can you handle it?" The American accent alerted the life-less crowd. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at the poor attempt. The singer signaled the guitarist, with a point of her index. Jaspher begain the beat, a steady one string. Picking the beat easily, following it with her foot. The pattern was caught, a couple measures before beginning the melody.

It began the simple enough,  
>"Call you for the first time today.."<br>The muscles of the week's tension unleashed themselves. His lids grew heavy, to show darkness.

A gentle shake to his shoulder awoke him, his eyelids opening hesitantly. "What do you want?" He snapped at the young woman, British accent thick. Hero ignored the remark, and left her hand out for a shake. "To know you! But you can call me Abby!" The American sat comfortably on the chair, the back-bone of it facing the blonde. The other's hand rested on his right shoulder. The response gave Arthur a confused thought. Why the change in name..? Before he brought the tea to his lips, it no longer warmed his palms, meaning the pass of the time. He feel asleep during the performance! The chance of relaxing! Vanished! A sigh came out, "Arthur Kirkland." The tone had been monotone, lacking such expressions. "Nice to meet ya Artie! You come here when ever I performance! True fan! I was wondering if you would want my autograph because I'm awesome like that!" Abby fell under the category of annoying, losing all charm what she gained while singing. The changes within a voice like her. A loud bubbly in a commonplace; yet, at a gig the appearance of pain shown through. "No, I don't want your blood autograph." Arthur huffed, gathering his belongings to leave. "I'll give to you anyway! It's gonna be worth something! I know it!" Surprisingly, taking the thick eyebrow's case, ransacking it for a object to write with, and something to write on. "Give that back! Wanker! That's mine! Learn some manners before you speak to me!" He scrambled for his personal articles of writings. In large font, across a worn rough draft read 'Abby Jones' In loopy letters, the A the largest, with completing the name on the bottom much smaller. Hovering above the many name was 'Hero'. A prized piece of work. Hours. Gone. The Brit was ready to scold, scream, curse the child to the next century. He breathed heavily, calm yourself. Public place. Public Place. Don't want to ruin your ability to come to the shop. You can do this. were a couple of thoughts that ran threw person workstation known as the brain. A forced "Thank you." Came out, stuffing his papers inside the deep brown, leather case. Rectangular in shape, dividers within to avoid havoc. The cash inside his black slacks were slammed onto the table top, the sound making workers to look at the scene unfolding.

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

The night was ruined. The American Brat destroyed a classic work. The mini copper appeared to have a ticket, with a bright yellow boot on the back tire. In a dripping ink, a fine was there, but rain took the away the chance to read it. He kicked his loafer cover foot at the metal ring, only to harm the walking tool. A howl came out, and ripped the ticket off the windshield wiper. By the time he had reached his flat, water could have been felt through his insides. He would have sworn to have feeling it inside his stomach.

Luckily his apartment was high up in a building nearby. The hallways were decorated with a paling yellow, and a marbled red carpet. The key worked against the rusted lock, producing a couple clinks. The door obeyed the request, swinging forward. Arthur's hand searched along the wall for a switch. A flick up, and the corridor bulb's illuminating one, by one. He turned around to lock the door, from the key slot to the next two protective measures.

The loyal feline waiting by the entrance, tail swaying slowly. Juliet, a soft white female, gifted with orange slabs on its vertebrae and a Scottish fold upon her ears. Intelligent ears, a piecing green much like his own; however, the cat hissed at anyone but his owner. "Juliet...Today..was blood hell." He bent his knees to scratch behind it's left ear, the cat leaning into his hand.

A soft meow came from the kitchen, Arthur's head shot up. "You have visitors?" He felt the blood pressure spike, running into the cooking area. Sliding into the small space, a chubby white feline layed on curled at Juliet's pillow. The cat had a thick brown collar, with a matching brown fluff tail. Like the singer at the shop, it seemed to have a ash imprint of a glass's frame. Juliet followed slowly, entering the room to climb into the bed with the fat cat. She coiled deep into the cat's stomach for warmth.

The jaw dropped, his hand running through his tangled hair. Shock. Even his cat found love. His eyes widened, those two could get pregnant! By chance, the fat cat rolled on his side to show the male part. Instant face palm to his face. That 'thing' was going to get his cat pregnant. His hand scrunched up, to pinch nasal cavity.  
>"If you have kittens Juliet, you are going to live on the streets." He said with a sigh, moving to inspect the couple. The blonde's palm ran along the male cat's brown thick fur, to find a bright red collar. Spinning it to find the name tag, engraved in a American Flag read 'Hero' directly under it was a a line of digits if lost.<p>

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

He had decided not to call the number, Juliet would have been heart broken if he was gone. The tabby came by often before he moved in, always bothering his poor cat. They would exchange meow-arguments outside the kitchen window. He should have saw it coming when she gave him a lick to the ear. She always looked a little crest fallen when he left, even if the two fought. When the couple caught him staring at the two, they walked to the next room. Her time for a litter was arriving. They practiced everyday he knew, breaking up it up by putting them in separate rooms. Both would get severe scoldings and empty threats. By the looks of it, she wanted a litter to call her own, making sure idiotic fur ball knew how to do it right. When the started this 'love making' he could not help but laugh. Hero aimed for the mid-spine when she was laying around, causing her to jump a couple feet. The stud got the hang of it, making fun of him by doing it every time he got home from work. When the fuckin' tub of lard gets his precious Juilet pregnant, he was going to hurt that stupid excuse of a cat.

The apartment was shabby, a single bedroom and bath, with a connected living room and kitchen. The view from the kitchen window was one to the alleyway, black metal ladders hanging off the side. If you climbed through the room from the kitchen glass, the bare, clean, fogging metal lined the sink. Go directly to the left, over some cream tiles over the counters. The stove/oven with a window to show the progress of baked goods. It had a few dents on the oven window out of anger. None directly touched the glass, but the upper right corner curled in a bit. Like the oven, it was white, shaking under the years of wear and tear. The corner of the kitchen appeared to end at the corner of the fridge.

Arthur lost his appetite after the lost of the paper, taking a novel to bed. He had a twin size bed, with a deep emerald green comforter. Before changing into night clothes, he searched his room to check any 'love-making' was happening. Taking his time to change into a tee and boxers. The mirror across the room caught his eye. Clumps of hair divided his forehead; as a result, giving him a slight tan line on the washed out epidermis. Black caterpillars crawled above the emerald optics, and made home. The cheek muscles tense from keeping a scowl upon his lips. Tall, bony, and lanky, could describe the body he owned. "What are my chances.." The Brit thought to himself. He slipped his glasses on to his nose, laying in the medium size bed.

Opening the worn paper back copy of 'Hamlet', the duo came into view. 'Hero' in front with Juliet at his side. She leaped to her pillow on the bed. The tabby took the chance to take the pillow, then leave some space for her. A couple angry mews back and forth, so the decision was made. He got the sheet while she had a pillow.

"Nice job Juilet." He scratched behind her foldings, Hero out cold. The papers! The work ruined! shouted through his conscious, forcing him out of bed. Once Arthur reached the main table of the room, he dumped the contents of the case on to the clear, glass slab. His hand finding the bloody piece of paper. The letters from before smudged because of the rain. 'That damn American Prat ruined my work..' 

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

After a sleepless night of work, the paper was retrieved, good for turning in. The couple watched him leave with a slam, tails intertwined.

If he had opened the written piece earlier, a line of digits would have been clear...

Maybe the as the one on the collar of the cat that moved in...?

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ 

Ohonhonhon, what do you think? Not much to the actual pairing, and those cat's won't be the center of this! Just hint at center things~ Ohonhon~

Same fic, just little differences within the America's if you were wondering. He is changed to She and /minor/ personality changes.

My first USUK. More you review, the more I want to update. :D Till the next time!


	2. Even at Work

College bills as definitely didn't not fall under 'pay-later-kind'. If you didn't have the money for it, you went under a considerable amount of debt. In this day of age, it could be easily done. Internet is a must! Texting is a must! Food! Not really! I can pay that bill next week!

Arthur's childhood was quite simple; don't spend on what you didn't have. It also was a lonely one. When he had entered the school overseas, a couple promises he made to himself.

The first one was the most important, nothing should falter about it.

1) Study for school, not for lovers.

Love is important, but not exactly in this moment. After his studies he'll have time for things like that.

2) Get a job, pay college bills and living first.

This Brit never had much of an appetite, skipping a meal or too was nothing. His older siblings left the nest for an education, only able to come back with dues chocking their financials. Arthur was not going to come back, nor begging for money. He was going to make his leaving.

And that is how he ended up with this job.

A waiter at the ballroom.

This occupation felt beyond crude. The people in the kitchen. Like the Frog. That Frenchman knew how to push those buttons till they couldn't be pushed anymore. They could argue on days without end, and that was the least of it. Yet, the two had a brotherly bond, asking for different help on various subjects. Francis would ask about how to do certain studies, and the Briton occasionally (rarely) asked for help on his love life.

A few dates here and there, never going on a second with the same person. The Frog explained it as 'Not the right l'amour, mon petit! She's waiting around the corner for you!' this phase would repeat itself a couple times after a failed attempt. He'll give up for a month or two, but then the Frenchman would sneak him on a blind date. Some lead to uneventful kissing, while others end at the door. Love didn't work for him, every novel on the subject proved it. He looked and didn't act like anyone in these stories, besides being a gentleman.

The echoing of 'Order up!' brought him back to the present. The arrangement of foods (worth more than his daily pay) told him to go to table 7. Both plates sat on the standard stainless steel, the one to the right reading table 4. Slipping each tray onto his palms, exiting the swaying black doors into the party.

The decorations for this party gave the room a dark, purplish glow. It crawled up the corners, spilling to the hems of the table clothes. Arthur's relief was given when the table tops were located with a few feet of each other. Seven, a corner table, the closest one. "Seven, who ordered the filet minion?" the voice switched to monotone with orders. A small hand raised and the food was given, same with the next couple plates. The last three went to the same person, all quite large meals. This curiosity stirred to see to whom it belonged too, making his eyes widen with shock on who it was.

The American from the quant cafe, the singer from the Fridays. It seemed like the body could eat at least 3 full course meals and still have room for another. A black hole in every definition of the word.

Strands fell across her face, out of the messy bun pinning it to the nape her neck. Her eyes danced around faces, looking for someone of importance. Tight around her neckline appeared to be a diamond studded chocker. He hadn't seen the dress...and forced himself to serve the next table. What was she doing in a coffee shop if she had the money to never work again..? The Briton glanced down at his pauper's clothing, black shoes, slacks and vest over a white pin up. Table 4 was given their food, and made sure the American couldn't see him go back.

His cheeks had flushed how magnificently she could pull together. Violent thoughts of 'STOP' put an end to it. They just met! No! She was too high in the social order for a commoner like himself! The unforgettable French chuckle brought him back completely. Arthur could be called an 'Open Book' on how easily those emotions could be seen through. The short haired blonde's feet took him back to the kitchen on instinct then.

"Mon petit, did you find some l'amour when you left?" Francis slug his arm on his friend's shoulders, face turned to him. "Frog! How many times do I have to tell you? Don't touch me! By the way! Your crappy food is burning!" With an instant push away from Arthur, cheeks becoming redder. This 'Frog' knew this man well enough that he assumed correct. A couple slides of the pan to shuffle the meal to prevent burning. The taller blonde leaned onto the oven behind him, relaxing in a stressful job like that defeated him. "Go out there and make her l'amour you, or I'll do it myself." Another tray was forced onto him, and quickly pushed out the door. He fumbled out, grabbing any trays that we slipping. The Frenchmen looked out the window of the double doors, smiling menacingly. He would really have to dance with her...

It was the right time to dance...right before the main courses came out. A couple dancers, all in pairs took the floor. The person he was looking for appeared to be waltzing with a tall, ashen blonde man. Could he infer when she may have a significant other already? Even if he tried to separate them. The man gave off the aura to beat any living soul to a pulp. They moved swiftly with the music, meeting the beat perfectly. How could he step in with something like that. Turning to give a furious expression at the face at the window, to see that it was making its way to the couple.

THAT FROG WAS NOT GOING TO GET THIS ONE!

Arthur stepped in front of the bearded man, forcing a smile to take the American to dance with.

His breathe caught at the dress, how it fit her frame. A sky blue at the spine, an open back with a divide to show her large cleavage. It tied at the waist, flowing to the floor. The color faded into darker shades as you drifted down to her feet. A pair of black chucks. American at its best.

"May I take this fine lady for a dance?" A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Da, hurt her. I will kill you." The taller man's accent told the Brit that the other was Russian, and that threat made the pale man lose some completion. That soul wasn't the type to joke. The former dancing partner left the floor, the smile never leaving his face. Abby facial muscles went from shock to amuse on the exchange between the two men.

The Frenchman was gone when he turned around the room, most likely smug in the kitchen at the advancement forced. The Brit's current expression was wearing one of annoyance, staring at the black doors. "Hey! Are you going to dance with me or not? Ivan is getting pissed..." The smile on her face removed some of his tension, "I shall M'lady." Positioning his body correctly left hand in the middle of her shoulder blades and the lowest of her waist. She lifted her open hand to hold with his, already moving gliding across the room.

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

AN: I suggest you listen to this song for the rest of the chapter.

LINK: http : / .com/ watch?v=vMMmcelxL5c (without spaces of course)

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

The performer for the evening started a new track, the baritone filling the rooms.

_**"When marimba rhythms start to play..."**_

They caught the beat, trying outwit each other's moves. Moving correctly, starting to push others off not on purpose, but for better competition.

_**"Dance with me, make me sway,"**_

He pulled her down, forcing her to lean back.

_**"Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more..."**_

Abby took the dominant move, bringing closer, smile becoming greater.

_**"Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with easy"**_

Arthur stomped his foot, smirking as he spun her close to his body.

_**"When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me..."**_

The clangs of the room seemed to melt away, only depending on the song for reality.

_**"Other dancers may be on the floor, Dear, but my eyes will see only you..."**_

This time she brought him down, proud of being able to do so.

_**"Only you have the magic technique..! When we sway, I go weak..."**_

He leaned over to her neck, only to force her out with a spin of his arm.

_**"I can hear the sounds of violins, long before it begins..."**_

The Russian stood up, the aura turning darker around him. The Brit brought her back, moving feet away from the source.

_**"Making me thrill as only you know how, Sway me smooth...sway me now..!"**_

'Ivan' increased his pace towards them, the blonde sensing the danger, opened their intertwined fingers to give her off. The instrumental started, the Brit taking the chance to escape from the situation. Ivan nodded with the creepy smile, laughing inside at the fail swooning. The American had a slight tinge in her cheeks, then shaking her head once before grinning to her beloved.

The bearded blonde saw the whole incident, chuckling with amusement. If the Frenchmen knew the Brit could dance like that. He would have made a move at him long ago. But he had a lovely lover of his own, long before that mess came into his life.

"Mon petit, who is your petite amie?" He cornered the smaller one, needing an answer. "S-she's not my girlfriend! She has a b-boyfriend!" The Brit spoke the words, face changing shades with each one. "Honhon! Not yet mon petit, I see some l'amour in your future!" The chef got up, pushing by the waiter's forehead.

No...She couldn't...He shouldn't! Arguing within himself the rest of the night, staying away from that side of the room. Without his knowledge, she wanted to see her dancing partner again, for an encore.

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

The long (to say the least) night came to end, hardly able to make it to the sofa from it. That nightfall, Hero slept by his side, from smelling his previous owner's scent on the Brit.

õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ

Sorry this chapter isn't as long as the first. I had a Halloween chapter going...but it deleted itself. I had at least 2 pages of huge paragraphs…review if I should rewrite it~ Btw! This fic is going to be ~20 chapters!


	3. It's Raining, it's Pouring!

Like I said in the first chapter, I don't own Hetalia D:

**Bold is America,** _Italic is Britain._

õ.õ~───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────~õ.õ

The tiredness that ran through his veins, making heavy folds under the emerald eyes. Because the new pregnant mother at home, the amount of sleep he could get every just halved. Oh! Wait the teacher said something important! He quickly scribbled before heading back to what he was thinking. Juliet meowed louder about the pain; consequently, driving Hero out of his mind. All he wanted to do was make it stop but the only thing he could do was lick. Yes, a 'cute' (like the other girls of the class would say) move, but rather depressing if you didn't have someone to comfort yourself.

This was his favorite class of the day, what his major was. Literature. Especially English Literature. American lit had it's disadvantages; however, English Literature could bring you into a story, and keep it there. Also a great class for him, the last of the day. The previous three periods of the day felt never ending and endearing. By 7, he left his home, and already enjoying some tea from it. Tea circulated through his body like the red blood cells did, pumping his heart and life. 7:35 (Latest he could allow himself) in first hour, an worthless art credit. Many other students had an knack with a pencil and paper, but Arthur could only draw circles, occasionally a flying bunny. Second hour, A.P. Chemistry. An mandatory credit as well, others succeeding in it while he could not right the proper formula for the simplest of equations. A pleasant meal in between this havoc, an small escape.

Then came the class he loathed with the most passion. A certain language class, that a certain Frenchman taught. If his attire wasn't flamboyant enough, then the personality behind it shone through. He didn't teach when a woman/man/horse/squirrel/anything that moved and living came in. Not like the Briton cared, but passing an major exam from the college board did. It would destroy his GPA. The killjoy of the class was himself, forcing the Frenchy to teach. Not too bad of a teacher, but Arthur slandered the other's home language for personal gains.

Today's class had been bearable, the instructor somewhat teaching. A new student with rather large package, Francis taking every chance to come close to the young lady. The killjoy intervened at the attempts, making him teach. Once the two hour class ended, the lit class rolled around. That soon came to an end as well. The homework amount was enough to pull a all nighter, without counting studying.

Francis met up with his chum, Arthur at the opening doors of the campus. The rain came down hard, rattling the overhang above. A familiar face stood about twenty feet in front of them, pacing back and forth, while staring at the street. The rain didn't seem to faze her, but she could catch a cold! Why was he caring? He only knew her by sight! And that dance.. The Frenchman knew who it was instantly. With a nudge, and plotting smile, "Your petite amie is by the gate, aller la chercher!" The nudge became a push, into the pouring rain. A long stream of British curses came from the shaggy blonde, yet he went over to her.

On the way Arthur opened up a dark green umbrella, more then enough for two. He hesitated for a moment, why was he doing this? The young woman turned around at the sound of the beating of water on plastic cloth. The American's lips appeared to be tense, then relaxed to a smile. Like before, his breathe caught. His chest tightened under it, warming his cheeks.

That could be it. Reason to help this certain American.

"I see your left alone, without a ride." It was an natural of him to have such a snarky personality, but took a leap of faith to moved the umbrella under the both of them. "Ivan is coming! I know it! He couldn't disappoint this hero! He couldn't! It's not like he could be doing something else!" An instant rambling of doubt came from her response, making the other raise an eyebrow.

Maybe he did have a chance...Or not. Abby's face glowed at a car pulled around the corner. He felt his features tighten into a frown. The car continued to drive pass them, her expression dropping.

"What were you going to ask?" The American said, voice faltering. She sighed, now sure that her lover wasn't coming.

"N-not like I care of any sort; however, do you need a ride home?" Arthur stuttered, a little shock to himself that he asked her for a ride home.

Her expressions became unreadable, the one that laid appeared to be blank. "Sure..Looks like the Commie Bastard isn't coming.." They had weird pet names for each other it seemed, and quite offensive. She stuffed her hands in her navy blue jacket, looking at him expectantly.

"The one with the Union Jack is mine.." The Brit slowly arrived to his car, and opened the passenger door for her. The act startled her slightly, might have seen gentlemanly people lately. It could all be read on her face, making her an open book as well at times. That simple innocence amused him, so he smiled slightly when he got back inside the small vehicle. After a few attempts of starting, the engine purred to life.

"Where do you live?" He inquired to her, who was currently watching droplets race down the clear widow. She remained unresponsive, so he asked again, louder. "Down on forty second, past the Ford dealership." The disappointment in her voice destroyed the excitement which would usually take home too. The address she gave was opposite too the campus, a long distance by foot.

The drive to her place had an awkward silence, not helping that she killed every attempt he made a small talk. Pulling into her area of the town, Arthur asked a question.

"Does this happen often?"

"..Every time I him to pick me up, it's not like he does anything.."

"Maybe you should ask someone else for rides home..."

"Like who? Kiku and Maddy don't live any where close. I don't trust Mr. Francis as far as I can throw him." Her attention caught, turning to look at him. The mistrust of Francis between the two soon starter a conversation. They shared incidents with him, bonding slightly.

"We were at an club and he tried to flirt with me and Ivan walked in! He punched him in the face right there! Then the idiot tried to woo the Commie!"

"I remember that! He complained about not getting laid for a weeks! That wanker got what he deserved!"

õ.õ~───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ───~õ.õ

"You're a cool dude, even if you're an old guy. We should meet up! Like the movies bro!" Abby told him, actually smiling again. Not that the Brit would admit but he enjoyed spending time like this. "Films, those are /Films/. Don't you have more important things to do? Like studying for example?" Killjoy. Killjoy. She made another try at him,

"We can study together then!"

"You have enough intelligence to purposely be studious?"

It took her a couple seconds to comprehend what he had spoken, then eyes brows furrowed a little. "Duh! My major is Chemistry! I'm minoring in Music!"

Her. An Chemistry Major.

It took her a couple moments to even understand that he insulted her.

What has this world come too?

His jaw dropped, "Y-your major is C-chemistry?" The American's smile became greater, "The hero is super smart! Chemistry is easy peasy!" Those lengthy chemical equations which took pages of hard labor and intensive thinking..easy? Maybe she was smarter then she looked. He stayed silent, dumbfounded for a couple minutes.

To break the tension, Abby fumbled for her cellular deep in her skinny jean's pocket. A couple beeps rang from the communication device, and it was tossed onto his lap. "Put your number in! I wanna to talk to you more often!" She commanded for him to do so. A mini Francis popped onto his shoulder with mini little horns. "Mon petite! Put it in! So you can put other things in her later!" Arthur's eyes widened, but kept them trained on the road in front of him. Blushing a cherry red at that thought, with a stream of curses. The frenchman invaded his mind as well, a quite sanction..lost. At a stop sign he entered the number, and quickly handed it to her.

"Don't text me during class, or forget about me ever giving you another ride." He told her, the Frenchman giggled, "You rode her already?" Another flush, and a whack to disperse the figure happened. Abby didn't really pay attention to what had happened to the Brit, just jumping in her seat. A look-alike car that drove past them before appeared to be sitting in the drive way.

He drove to the curb, the American halfway out of the mini-coop. The taller man leaned on the pitch black SUV, waiting for the smaller person. The Briton sighed, already pulling away from that scene.

õ.õ~───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ───~õ.õ

When the blonde arrived home, both felines decided upon destroying his kitchen. A series of yelling took place, and hurried cleaning. By dinner time (6 o'clock, this is an old man we are dealing with) his phone gave a rude 'gdrrr' on the countertop. A number lit up on the screen with the following message:

From: 987-654-1234 **(AN: that's not a real number lD) **To: Me 6:45PM November 1, 2011

**y0! dud3! its da h3r0 u sav3d from da rain! :D (AN: Read. **'Yo! Dude! It's the hero you saved from the rain!**)**

Arthur ate his meal, the decided to respond to the message. He twitched at the sight of her spelling.

From: Me To: Abigail 7:03PM November 1, 2011

_Hello. Abby I assume?_

A few seconds after, it vibrated on his side about the new mail.

From: Abigail To: Me 7:05PM November 1, 2011

**Y3a! H0w c0u1d u nt kn0 its da h3r0? (AN: Read:** Yea! How could you not know it's the hero?**)**

7:08PM November 1, 2011

_If the 'Hero' doesn't use proper grammar, she isn't going to get another text message from this person._

7:10PM November 1, 2011

**y? Its s1mp13 11k3 d1z!**

7:11PM November 1, 2011

_*Why? It is simple like this!_

7:12PM November 1, 2011

**:O! U dnt kno how 2 have fun! **

7:15PM November 1, 2011

_*You do not know how to have fun!_

7:15PM November 1, 2011

**MEANY!**

7:17PM November 1, 2011

_There we go. Was that too hard?_

7:19PM November 1, 2011

**You're such a party pooper, you know that? -.-**

Both users were laying on a couch, expecting the other's response. Arthur reading a novel as homework, Abby flipping channels.

7:20PM November 1, 2011

_Good girl. Now meow like my cat._

7:25PM November 1, 2011

**Meow, meow, meooooooow! My Hero left me! He was an epic cat!**

The Brit trained his eyes on the pack of lard in the middle of living room. Hero? That cat's name is Hero. Her hero?

7:27PM November 1, 2011

_Did he have a thick brown collar?_

7:29PM November 1, 2011

**With glasses!**

Confirmed.

õ.õ~───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────~õ.õ

The Brit forced the American to come over the next time he saw her, which happened to be the next day. When the Frenchy caught sight of the sight of the scene in front of him, all he could was buckle in a 'Ohonhonhonhon'. Abby gave him a punch to a jaw which didn't silence him till Arthur started to strangle him. Both English speakers sighed with relief once he decided to leave them. For some reason she went willing, having trust with him already. The two conversed on the way to the apartment, different things about their days.

"Before you come in, I want you to know. That lard got my cat pregnant." Was all he said, hand on the knob of the door. A puzzled expression was on her face till he opened the barrier. The male feline leaped into the air at the previous owner, topping her when she fell to the ground. His mate sat at the door, tail swaying. The reunion on the floor seemed to be a joyous occasion.

"Artie! You kidnapped my cat!" It sounded like a teasing tone, not really caring. She pulled herself up from the floor, and shoved the cat off. Arthur was already in the kitchen of the flat, with his at his heels. "Your cat kidnapped mine's virginity!" He shouted back, already turning on the knob for heat to his water.

All Hero could do was sit in his owner's arms, loving the attention he was receiving. She traced her fingers over the wall of paper backs to hard covers. The Brit was too occupied with his tea to notice what was happening in his living room. On the dark oak coffee table laid a worn paperback, exposing many reads. It was missing a cover however, with yellowing pages. Curiosity got the best of her and she opened to the middle of it, to read half the page. Not even midsentence and she threw the book to the ground, forcing the cat to get out of her arms. The printed story hit the carpet with a loud thud. She jumped over the sofa, with narrowing eyes at it. Arthur ran into the room, trying to see what the hell just happened.

"You're kinky, dude. Really kinky." The American slowly approach the novel, as if it was going to bite her hand. He picked it up before she did, lucky opened to the page she skimmed. He went crimson at the content, doing the same as she did with it. "T-that's not m-mine! Francis must have left it here!" He retorted, mentally trying to dismiss the blush on his cheeks.

"I didn't get what they trying to do but it was very…." Her cheeks grew a faint pink at the memory.

The redness decreased much by now, fading out. "What do you mean? It was very c-clear.."

"The actions…" She either was acting stupid or lost her innocence.

"What do you want me to do about it?" The usual expression popped back to his face, the seriousness of an old man but the youth of a 20 year old.

"Tell me! Act it out!" She blurted, blushing harder. Abby wanted to understand what happened in the book, she was old enough for those kind of those things!

"Tell…? That was too clear…A-acting…" The Briton sighed, what was he going to do with her?

"Do it! I'll never ask anything again!" The persistent type…her eyes widened, giving him the puppy eyed look.

_No! No! No! Not that look! Will not give in! Will not give in!_

"Pleeeeeeeaaase!" She said slowly, multiplying the affect of her eyes.

_Dammit._

Taking a deep breathe, he started what he could keep remember. All he could think was '_Russian, don't not kill me, Do not kill me. Do not kill me.'_ He took a step towards her, and wrapped his arms around her small waist. It surprised him on how well the length worked with her width, but dismissed it. The American stood stiffly, waiting for another move on his part. Arthur closed his lids, leaning in close to her mouth…she kept her position, still waiting.

_Strawberries..she smells like strawberries.._

He could feel the heat of her lips and cheeks, blood pumping hard from the distance.

"HELLLOOOO! YOU CALLED MY AMOUR?" The slamming of door and a Frenchman came in, killing whatever was sparking at the moment. They pushed away from each other immediately, faces flushed.

That day ended with a rather confused French-speaker.

õ.õ~───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────~õ.õ

That was not intended ending of this chapter, but I loved that plot bunny..so it gave birth to that. Bunnies produce like no tomorrow, don't ya know?

They almost kissed! Bad France! I thought you were the country of love and try to make that happen!

Yes, I believe America is rather smart. This country wasn't the top of education for the past 40 years for nothing. I don't know about now, but I think some Asian country is a top. I read somewhere that Japan was going to be the next world super power. o.o Both America and Russia are Chem majors, see what I did there? (both have nuclear warheads).

England is an closet prev. End of story.

I am not going to continue with the yaoi version on this story. No one reads it, so…

Review please~ it makes my day that I did something right~


	4. Notice

**January 29, 2012**

_Author's Note: _

I sadly do not have the urge to complete this story. It's been a while..but I can't do it. If you want to continue this story, then message me. I'll give you the plot line for it. You don't have to follow it, but credit me if you decide to go on with it.

-Penguino


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